ONCE UPON A TIME - SHE WAS CUTE!

The idea behind this intro blog is to include a picture from a long time ago, when I was once adorably cute and oh so naïve.  I seem to have misplaced the photo… it will show up when the time is right.

Where do I start…. well my fabulously funny and fashionable friend ‘D’ suggested that I blog.  Hmmmm… he is a better writer so he should be blogging his wit away instead of me.  I am not so good in forming the perfect sentence let alone a blog.  Weirdly my thoughts failed to make an appearance on the page.  And honestly, can I compete with already established bloggers?  For some strange technical reason I am not alphabetically funny.  So my fabulously funny D has been appointed to be my editor, critics and no.1 blog follower.

Intro blog deserve a brief intro…  I grew up in a staunch Muslim family and we pretty much lived by what would people say about us as a Muslim person and the pressure is doubled for girls.  What we think are secondary and sometimes it didn’t matter at all.  I have no recollection of my childhood and at times it feels like it never happened.  I was fast forwarded into my 20s and lived miserably for quite a long while.  One part I remember is being sent to my grandmother’s to finish reading the Quran.  Why would one wants to read something that cannot be understood?  There is no dictionary to guide us through nor there is a guru to translate the lines we read.  But it’s compulsory for us to read it at least once in a lifetime.  My opinions didn’t matter so I went along with the idea to simply please my mother.

Amidst the blurred childhood memory, I can see my grandmother so clearly.  She was full of grace and so beautiful.  Now that I’ve pen it down, I don’t think ‘beautiful’ is the right choice of word.  She was a stunning woman with strong facial feature and she smells of jasmine all day long, even her laundry fresh from the line smells of jasmine.  When I’m old and grey, I want to be just like grandma.  Here I am thinking about my 80th *sigh*

My mother was the opposite of my grandmother.  She worries all the time and most of the time she worries about the litte things that didn't matter.  I'll talk about my mother another time. 

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

I looked to the sky, I went into the deepest part in the hard drive of my brain, I took a walk back to memory lane, I stared at the sun (and - no I didn’t bark at the moon), I talked to God and then I talked to myself like a crazy person.  I was looking for this thing called inspiration.  I have been on this quest since Mother’s Day and that was a month ago.  

It’s really heart breaking to think about my mother as this sad person and full of worries.  I have never heard her laugh.  Or seen her smile.  At times she’d wear a half-smile and I couldn’t help but to wonder if she faked it.  My mother lived her life worrying about things she shouldn’t be.  She carried her burden and my father’s and of everyone else around her.  Me included.  She worries about my father not eating his veggies & fruits and for not drinking enough water.  She would dig every flaw within my father and then she’d spend days worrying about them.  Constantly nagging.  It’s a mystery as to why she chose to be unhappy and sometimes, I worry I will be just like mother. 

Have I mentioned that my mother passed because of a heart failure?  I’ve read a couple of medical journals linking sadness to the illness of the heart.  After all the heart is one of the most important organs in the human body.  It works around the clock and never takes a day off.  All it asks for is to be treated right with a daily dosage of happiness, 2 ounces (or more) of laughter and a thoughtful of gratitude.

The only one time I recall mother laughing is when I was 8.  I got home from school, parked myself in front of the TV and Sesame Street was on… I turned the volume up as they had a spelling contest of some sort.  I got my spelling right and mother heard it so she laughed – out loud and it was straight from her heart.  Thereafter I remember cracking my head thinking of something to ask her.  A question to turn her frowns into a smile or better yet a laugh but I wasn’t very witty.  It felt as though someone has stolen all of her laughter and she is never to laugh again.

Mother was never curious about my happiness.  She never asked.  It felt as though she didn’t care and I didn’t matter.  If she were alive today, I would ask her two questions about her sadness.  If she were alive today, I’d tell her how happy I have become.  All is too late so now I wish she could see me from the heavens and nodding in approval.

They say action speaks louder than words.  Mother’s action was rather peculiar.  She would ask me to pray five times a day but never teaches me how.  She expects me to put a scarf on my head, but never buy me one.  So I grew up not really knowing the proper way to pray and I detested the scarf.  She would nag and nag some more.  Mother invited sadness and misery loves company.  

I know it’s wrong for me to compare mother to Nora Walker or Claire Huxtable.  I could watch them over and over again and never be bored.  They have true love in their hearts, a book-full of kind words… words so soothing to heal a wound but stern enough to show who is the leader of the pack.  I wonder if there is mothers out there who are just like these warrior mothers.  At times I would daydream of becoming a mother myself (here’s hoping!!) and all I wanted is be my children’s best friend.  They could talk to me freely about their ideas, hopes, dreams and everything else in between.  I'd encourage them to speak their mind and speak freely.  

The best quality time spent with mother was in the kitchen.  She’d teach me how to cook and encourage me to eat healthy.  The best nag she ever gave was to tell me to always eat lots of veggies and fruits.  I inherited few of her good traits and they are proof that I am my mother's daughter.

This blog is dedicated to my mother ~ with all my love.